


Of Drunken Duels and Wine Soaked Kisses

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Dorks in Love, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23270005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: When Alexander finishes his last day on Washington's staff, he and Eliza have a bit too much to drink in celebration of his new freedom. Goofiness ensues.__Pure, silly hamliza fluff
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Comments: 16
Kudos: 92





	Of Drunken Duels and Wine Soaked Kisses

They were both drinking far too much, Eliza thought, as the front room of their rented cabin tilted oddly around her. She and Alexander had both been laughing uproariously at a joke she couldn’t quite recall. Her stomach muscles ached in time with her head. 

“To my first day of freedom,” Alexander declared grandly, not for the first time, his voice slurring as he thrust yet another glass of wine into her hands.

“Honey, I think maybe we should slow down,” she advised, setting the glass aside. She ran her hand over her face, trying to correct her vision. Perhaps she ought to open a window for a breath of air?

“Why?” he asked, grinning openly. His cheeks were flushed, and she didn’t think it was from the warmth of the fire before them. “Tomorrow is the first day in years I’m going to wake up my own man. No cranky General shouting at me in the middle of the night. No letters to write but my own. You know how I’m going to spend it?”

“Sick in bed with a sore head and a sour stomach?” she teased, though part of her knew that was how they’d both most likely be spending much of the next day.

He snorted with laughter, wine sloshing down his front.

She sighed, reaching behind her into the side table for a handkerchief. She missed the handle twice before finally getting the drawer open. He ran his hand over his white shirt in the meantime, effectively smearing and patting in the red wine stain. That wasn’t going to be fun to get out, she thought distantly, even as she pressed the handkerchief into his hand. He flung it over the side of the sofa as he turned to face her, curling his knee up into the space between them.

“I’m going to sleep as late as I want,” he announced, gesturing with the wine glass, wine sloshing threateningly towards the rim.

“I expect you’re right.”

She wrapped her hand around his to avoid further spills.

“Stop,” he complained, trying to tug his hand free. More red droplets dribbled over the side. 

“Stop spilling,” she parried, “And I’ll let go.”

He laughed again as though this was a hilarious rejoinder, bending double at the waist and allowing her to take the wine glass from him.

“What were you saying?” she asked, when his belly laugh had subsided into general chuckles. His head was now resting against the sofa, with his cheek smooshed against the cushion and his eyes blinking heavily. The wine had stained his lips a dark red to match the blush on his cheeks, she noted fondly.

“About what?” he asked sluggishly.

“What you’re going to do tomorrow,” she clarified.

“What’s tomorrow?”

She shook her head and slid closer to him, her hand resting on his knee as she suggested, “I think maybe we should put you to bed.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m married, Madam,” he slurred, eyes blinking out of sync as though struggling to focus on her even as he flirted shamelessly.

“I’m certain you are.” She reached out to stroke his cheek.

“You have a wedding ring on,” he observed, shrinking back to try to see her hand.

“I do,” she confirmed.

“I don’t like that.” He declared this very seriously.

She couldn’t help chuckling. “Why not?”

He frowned. “I want to kiss you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Then I’ll have to duel your husband,” he said.

She laughed again. “I wish you wouldn’t. I’m quite fond of my husband.”

“You are?” His lower lip pouted out in disappointment.

She couldn’t quite tell if he was joking. “Sweetheart, you remember you’re married to me, right?”

A smirk started at the corner of his mouth. “No,” he said, attempting what she assumed was meant to be a roguish wink, but which instead came off looking like someone had attempted to poke him in the eye. “We’re cland…clandest….” He hiccupped. “Secret lovers.”

Good Lord, he was adorable. She grinned at him. “Are we?”

He nodded. “I’m going to duel your husband and run away with you.”

“How thrilling.”

“Present arms!” he called, swinging his fist up and knocking the back of his hand against his mouth, then whining, “Ow.”

“Careful,” she said, pulling his hand away to ensure he hadn’t hurt himself.

“I need to fight your husband for your honor,” he insisted, letting her inspect his lip. A little bump was evident over his incisor, but she didn’t see any blood or bruising.

“Goose. My poor husband is going to feel plenty damaged come morning, I think. You don’t need to help him along any more than you already have.”

“Good.”

She shook her head. “You get silly when you drink.”

“You’re silly,” he retorted, snorting with laughter again, amused with himself.

She collapsed against his chest, the room swaying slightly in her peripheral vision at the abrupt change in position. His leg straightened out underneath her as he pulled her against him. Capturing his lips, she tasted wine and chocolate on his breath.

With a sleepy sigh, she said, “Let’s run away to our bedroom so we can lie in our bed and go to sleep.” 

“A good idea.” He pulled back a little to squint at her. “But I don’t think I can stand up.”

She wasn’t entirely sure she could either, to be honest. She eyed the distance to the bedroom. “We could sleep on the sofa?”

“You’re so brilliant.” He closed his arms fully around her, squeezing her tightly. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, honey.”

One of his arms released her, and his hand landed on her head, ruffling her hair. She attempted to swat his hand away even as she relaxed back against his chest. “Alexander, stop. What are you doing?”

“Looking for your halo.”

“My what?”

“Your halo. It must be here somewhere.”

She rolled her eyes and pushed at his arm again. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re an angel.” He giggled to himself. “And also drunk.”

“Am not,” she said, even though her vision did have a pleasant haziness and sleep was suddenly, unexpectedly pulling at her eyelids.

“Are too,” he said.

“Not as drunk as you.”

She peeked up at him and saw he’d stuck his tongue out at her. Then they were laughing again, deep, wonderful belly laughs as they curled into each other, sprawled across their sofa. Her cheeks and stomach ached, tears gathering in her eyes as she squeezed him closer.

The hangover the next morning was almost worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from Tumblr: "Just the good old "I got so drunk I forgot I'm married to you and one of our friends mentioned you're married and now I want to punch your husband" trope for Hamliza?" I was in the mood for some fluffy silliness from my two faves! Hope you all enjoyed! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated, as always!


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